


Compromised

by Downeys



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, idk i need help understanding tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downeys/pseuds/Downeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coughing up thick crimson from lungs to lips, Tony struggles to escape the wrath of the comprised Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, story time. I've been in the Stony fandom for-freaking-ever and have been thriving off of the stories of others like the little book worm I am, but finally I’m not gonna be scared anymore and just upload this little blurb that I wrote in the last hour. This freaks me out, cuz you know, I really kinda idolize a lot of the writers on ao3 and tumblr, and if I’ve ever messaged you, surprise, you’re one of them. Anyways. Literally my first ever attempt at writing my OTP. 
> 
> I have no idea where this little fic came from, its not planned or plotted, but here. Read :)

Titanium encased fingers claw helplessly on the ruined rubble of the street. Suit scrapping with each pull and shift as he tries to slug away from the charcoal chaos that lays wasted around him.

He tries the com unit again, swallowing thickly. "Iron Man asking for immediate assistance; anyone copy?" Out of breath and wide eyed as he half glances behind him where red and blue studiously winds through the city's destruction, shucking off a smearing of blood from the shoe shined shield that's been the last image of many this death embracing day.

Echoing combat boots crunch, no haste or hurry in the fatal approach, steadily following in that assassins rhythm on broken asphalt. "Its too late for that, Stark." Calculated yet indifferent, noting nothing but an end to his mission.

The other man coughs abruptly, back curling in as dust breezes away from his anguished huffs for crimson clotted air. "Come on, Wing-Head," Blood stained lips spit slowly, equally fighting for breath and words. "This isn't you; You're compromised."

The super assassin says nothing--does nothing, but strides in unperturbed steps along the bloody broken trail left behind. Red and gold paint of the suit stripped to colour the dirtied cement Tony struggles on.

Panting as he heaves his burdened weight forward, mechanics groaning in protest as lights flicker, but with the helmet long ago ripped off him and a threatening slash still sizzling thats torn through the armour, cutting open his back, he doesn't do anything but ignore the angles of his anguished legs and keeps inching forward.

There's dirt in his eyes, flavouring his tongue, trying to clear it to again uselessly call in on comms, but instead he yells in anguish as a super strengthened foot stomps on his hand and he hears the shink of the shield simultaneously unslotting from its place on Steve's back.

The statistics flashing to the forefront of Tony's mind as the bones of his hands crunch and twist with the metal of the gauntlet, figuring a fifteen percent chance of ever getting full dexterity back--but something more terrifying echoes that the hope he had been so feverishly clinging to, that he fucking had for not yet an hour, may be nearing it's end. 

That the terrorizing torture, the humiliation on the hunt, the deception on the run, miscommunication bleeding from their bones and the spiteful, insightful recovering, may be over just as the war that ended three days earlier. 

And that by the time Steve comes to, it'll be to Tony's shattered skull leaking across the pavement and splattered on the prestigous Captain's unscathed face.

Tony's body rolls without his consent, done so by the same hands that had once stitched him back together, now pushes him over, face up to his brutal demise. "You are formally discharged from duty, Anthony Stark."

Theres no time to act in self-defence, no last minute words for aid, to recall long lost memories--a life times worth of tumultuous fights against rogue gods, invasive aliens, misguided humans, and each other. There are no looks of flickering recognition or once love, it's blank and impassive. Not a crack in the mask as Captain America stands tall over Tony's prone battered body and doesn't even flinch as Tony does just that with the swinging blow that connects cleanly across his....

He drifts struggling to accept the outcome that pitted the wrath of the comprised Captain America against him. Caught in his last reverie, he scrounges to escape the clouding darkness that's encased him since this political storm rolled through the Stark manner. Begging to slip into a peaceful state reminded of the good times, only to be re-struck by the announced and manipulated war that hit him full force off his feet. 

Lastly caught in the light of enchanting white as he scrounges for his last moments of life to reminisce back to the beginning of this tragically tangled death after so many countlessly endless days. 

Coughing up thick crimson from lungs to lips; his gaze sharpens on that sweaty smoked pale skin, sweeping sun yellow hair and ocean blue eyes snapping back to life and away from that dull, dead state that once consumed Tony, too. Leaving Steve deserted as Tony's announced deceased outside the restaurant he hates most in this world; fucking Ronald McDonalds house.


End file.
